Sharpe's Value
by CPO Backstreet
Summary: Set prior to Sharpe's Rifles. It is 1808 and Lieutenant Richard Sharpe and the British army are newly arrived in Portugal. Their first battles await them and so do some personal enemies. Book continuity.
1. Chapter 1

**This is a chapter of Sharpe's career that I've always been rather curious about. I'm not sure if Bernard Cornwell's ever going to fill the gap in but until he does, here's my attempt to cover what Sharpe was doing in the early days of the Peninsular War. I've done my best to be historically accurate but there may well be a few errors creeping in. Apologies in advance, hope you enjoy.**

* * *

CHAPTER ONE

Richard Sharpe was in Portugal. It was a country he had never visited before and that he had never had any interest in but it was where the army had sent him and so it was where he was. Britain was at war with France and France was invading Portugal, Britain's oldest ally. So Britain had sent its army to stop them.

The place where Sharpe stood was called Mondego Bay. It was the landing place for the 14,000 British troops. Unloading all the men and equipment from the boats that had carried them there was expected to take a week. And they were not the only British troops on their way to Portugal. The 14,000 men led by Sir Arthur Wellesley would soon be joined by other men and other generals and one of those generals would take command of the British force. That disappointed Sharpe. He had fought with Wellesley in India, Wellesley had made him an officer, and he would rather follow the general than some old man who had never had a sniff of a battle.

Sharpe was an officer. He had been an officer for five years and, although he was called a lieutenant, he was still one of the lowest ranking officers in the army. For the past two months, he had been the quartermaster of the second battalion of the 95th Rifles. He had been transferred from the first battalion because of the intervention of William Lawford, an officer at Horse Guards who had been Sharpe's company officer when he was a private soldier in India. He had been transferred because the second battalion was the one being sent to Portugal, to war. And in war, men died, officers as well as privates, and when they died other officers were promoted to take their place. It was the only way to be promoted unless a man was rich and Sharpe was not. And Sharpe wanted to be promoted. He wanted to be more than a second lieutenant and quartermaster. He wanted to lead men as other officers did, officers younger and less experienced but with more money than Sharpe.

"Mister Sharpe!"

The voice belonged to Major Warren Dunnett. He was one of the two majors who served immediately under Sharpe's battalion commander, Colonel Hamlet Wade, the other being Major Robert Travers. And he was one of three officers who had transferred from the first battalion, the others being Sharpe and Captain John Murray, the commander of the light company who had brought his men with him. If there had been one officer that Sharpe would have happily left behind, it would have been Dunnett. Dunnett had looked down on Sharpe when Dunnett was a captain and he would no doubt look down on him even more now he had been raised to major.

"Sir,"Sharpe answered sullenly.

"What is your position in this battalion, Mister Sharpe?"

"I'm the quartermaster, sir."

"Then get to your duties, Mister Sharpe. The supplies we brought with us won't last. You need to replenish them."

Sharpe glanced at the dirt track that led to Figueira, the nearest city. Replenishing supplies meant going there, trading with the Portugese. It was standing orders that all food had to be paid for, especially since these people were Britain's allies. "Cooper!"Sharpe bellowed.

A young rifleman came rushing forward. Cooper was Sharpe's assistant, a newly enlisted soldier. He had an older brother in Captain Murray's company. "Yes, sir?"

"We're going to get supplies,"Sharpe said curtly, making it clear he wasn't after a long conversation on the subject. "Get the mule. We'll need it to carry the stuff back with us."

Sharpe started off in the direction of the road. But then another voice interrupted him. "Sharpe!"

Sharpe turned to the new speaker. David Machin was one of the battalion's lieutenants. He was ten years younger than Sharpe with no battlefield experience, yet the army said he was Sharpe's superior. "Yes, sir?"

Machin laughed at the formality. "I'm not going to put you on a charge, lieutenant. I just wondered if I could walk with you as far as the city. I want to do some reconnoitring. Given that we're in hostile territory, I thought we could probably do with travelling together."

Sharpe nodded. He noticed that Cooper had fallen into step behind the two officers, obviously not wanting to intrude on his superiors' conversation, and found it ironic that he might instill such apprehension in anyone. "I thought the Portugese were our allies,"he commented.

"They are, Sharpe, they are,"Machin agreed. "But they're being invaded by the French and the French are not our allies."

Sharpe gave a shrug that Machin could take to indicate agreement. "Have you ever fought the French?" he asked, although he knew Machin had not.

"Alas, no,"Machin confirmed. "You?"

"I was in the attack on Boxtel, when I was a private soldier." Sharpe gave a slight smile as he recalled an incident not in his official record. "And I was at Trafalgar."

Machin looked amused at the claim. "Trafalgar, Sharpe? I think you must be getting confused. That was a naval engagement. I suppose you must be looking forward to seeing them again."

"I don't suppose I'll be seeing much of them. Quartermasters don't get to do much fighting."

"Well, I am, Sharpe. I'm looking forward to seeing them a great deal."


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Machin watched as Sharpe and the rifleman headed off on their menial task. If he was honest with himself, he liked Sharpe. The man may not have been a proper officer, with no idea how to lead men or organise a campaign, but he was a decent sort of person, the sort an army needed. But Machin had no doubt that Sharpe lacked the imagination to come up with the sort of plan he had conceived, a plan he had realised was his only option as soon as he had found out that the British army intended to challenge Napoleon's French Empire.

Machin checked the name on the sign outside the inn and went inside. The Portugese barman stared at him, uncertain how to treat his first English guest. "I'm looking for a man in uniform,"Machin told him. "You know the one I mean." The barman remained silent. Machin threw him a gold coin.

"In the back, senhor,"the barman answered.

Machin went through into the inn's living quarters. A man was waiting for him there, a dark-haired man with a moustache, wearing the uniform of a French captain. He took a drag from the cigar he was holding. "You are late, Englishman."

"I had a lot of ocean to cross, Lenoir,"Machin replied as he sat down opposite his old friend.

"Nevertheless, I have been coming here every day for the last week as we agreed. I hope you have something for my superiors that will make it worth it."

Machin handed him an envelope. "Full details of the compliment of the British contingent, as promised."

Lenoir gave a grateful nod of his head as he accepted it. "That will be most welcome. What does your English general plan to do?"

"We are to meet with a garrison of Portugese soldiers. It's hoped they will join with us. After that, we will march on Lisbon."

"How many men do you have?"

"Fourteen thousand. If the Portugese join us, twenty."

Lenoir paled slightly. "General Junot has barely half that number. We can perhaps manage to gather fifteen thousand troops before a major confrontation."

"More British troops are on their way. If you don't stop Wellesley, he will join up with them and you will have a much larger army to deal with."

"Then it seems we have no choice. I will make sure this information gets to my generals as soon as possible." Lenoir hesitated. "David, I am aware that our acquaintance while I was in England makes us friends. But I am a French soldier, you are a British one. Why are you betraying your army like this?"

"Napoleon has cut his way through most of Europe,"Machin replied. "He's going to do the same to the Peninsular and any army that gets in his way will be torn to pieces. I want to avoid that fate. I want to be on the winning side."

* * *

Delfina Lobato glanced in the direction of the back room where her employer's private guests were. She was aware that the French officer had been a regular visitor to the inn but she was not aware who his new friend was. The man was wearing a green uniform of a type she hadn't seen before.

"Delfina,"snapped Senhor Morillo, attracting her attention. "Go and see if our guests require drinks."

Delfina gave a nod of assent and headed into the back room. She heard the two men talking and, to her shock, realised they were speaking in English.

"We will only be able to muster a small force to harrass your troops,"Lenoir noted. "In a face to face confrontation, we would be easily defeated."

"I'll see if I can draw the men into an ambush,"Machin replied. "Wade will listen to me, I'm sure of that." He turned round and saw Delfina standing in the doorway. "What do you want, girl?"

Delfina backed away and bumped into Morillo. "Delfina?"he asked. "What is wrong?"

Delfina pushed past him, all sorts of fears running through her head. She ran through the inn and out into the street.

* * *

One of the reasons Sharpe considered himself unsuited for the job of quartermaster was that he hated negotiating. It was bad enough trying to barter with army stores for the equipment they needed but a Portugese shopkeeper was an even worse prospect. After a long conversation in broken English and even more broken Portugese, the man had eventually provided them with a large amount of meat, bread and wine in exchange for every coin Sharpe had on him. "Rot in hell,"Sharpe muttered as the man gleefully headed back into his shop, leaving him surrounded by a large pile of supplies. "Cooper, get a cart."

"How am I going to do that, sir?"Cooper asked. "We don't have any money to hire one."

Sharpe cursed under his breath. "Can the mule carry it?"

"Some of it, sir. I can strap the barrels to it, maybe place a couple of bags on its back…"

"Guess we'll have to carry the rest of it, then."

Cooper swallowed slightly. "Sir?"

"What's the matter, Cooper?"Sharpe snapped. "Did you think the army wasn't going to be hard work? Carry the bags!"

At that moment, a dark-haired local girl came running down the street, colliding with Sharpe. He took a firm but gentle grip on her. "What's up with you, lass?"

The girl stared at him and her eyes widened in horror. "You! You're the same as the other one! You have come to help the French hurt our people!"

"Don't know what you've heard, miss, but we're here to fight the French. My name's Sharpe. Richard Sharpe. I'm a British officer."

The girl continued to eye him suspiciously. "Delfina Lobato. I thought the British wore red coats."

"Most of them do. I'm in the Rifles." Sharpe recalled the job he was doing. "At least…my regiment is."

"There was a man in your uniform. He was speaking with a Frenchman." Delfina looked over her shoulder nervously. "I can't go back there. They'll kill me."

Sharpe stared at her. "Can you carry a sack?"

Delfina looked at him, confused. "Senhor?"

Sharpe picked up one of the sacks of bread and handed it to her. "Come on."

"Sir?"Cooper asked questioningly.

"Well, we can't leave her here, can we? She'll have to come with us." And so they set off, Sharpe leading the way with a confidence he didn't really feel, the bemused Delfina wondering who the Englishman with the hard face and the kind eyes was, and the grumbling Cooper and his mule bringing up the rear.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Sharpe was somewhat relieved when the army came in sight. It had been his instinct when Delfina came running to them to try and protect her but, if he was honest, he had no idea how to do it. Behaving like an officer and a gentleman never came easy to him and he was happy to hand the responsibility for her over to those who were bred for it.

He placed the sacks he was carrying on the floor and gestured for Delfina to do the same. "Cooper, get two men and get this stuff loaded into a cart."

"Yes, sir,"Cooper answered with a touch of resentment. He had probably been looking forward to getting a hold of his ration of rum.

Sharpe ignored the insolence and turned his attention to Delfina. "You'd better come with me, miss."

Sharpe cast his eye over his battalion and picked out Colonel Wade, standing with Dunnett and Major Travers. He headed over to the three senior officers. "Mister Sharpe,"Wade acknowledged.

"Returning with supplies as ordered, sir,"Sharpe reported.

Wade's gaze drifted over Delfina. "You seem to have returned with more than that, Sharpe. Perhaps you should introduce us."

"Miss Delfina Lobato,"Sharpe explained. "We found her in the city, in fear of her life. I thought it best to bring her back here for protection."

"Good god, man!"Dunnett exclaimed. "We're not a refuge! Send her on her way."

Sharpe was aghast at the comment. He would never, whether as an officer or a common soldier, have turned his back on a frightened woman. He thought that such chivalry would come as common nature to these men but apparently not.

"He's got a point, Sharpe,"Wade conceeded. "We can't take in every waif and stray we come across. Maybe you should find something else for her."

"No!"Sharpe protested loudly. He saw the looks of shock on their faces and realised he'd overstepped the mark. When he spoke again, it was as politely as possible. "I am an officer in this army and therefore, according to my rights and duties, I am taking Miss Lobato under my protection for as long as she needs it."

"You'll pay for her upkeep as well as your own?"Dunnett asked.

Sharpe winced, well aware that even an officer's pay wasn't enough to make a man rich. The only advantage of being quartermaster was that it meant he was paid as much as a full lieutenant. But he knew it was enough. "I will, sir."

"Then so be it,"Wade agreed.

"We don't have a tent for her,"Travers pointed out apologetically.

"She can have mine,"Sharpe replied. "I'll sleep outside."

He saw Dunnett's lip curl with disdain and knew what the older officer was thinking: Real officers didn't sleep in the open, only the ill-bred did that. But Sharpe had lost what little respect he had for the major over the course of the conversation and no longer cared what he thought.

"You're not carrying a rifle, Sharpe,"Travers pointed out.

Sharpe was annoyed at the thoughtless comment. "I'm the quartermaster,"he reminded his superior.

"You're the quartermaster of a fighting battalion,"Travers reminded him in turn. "If we're in battle, it's going to be no use you throwing some wheat at them. Get yourself on to the armourer. I'll make sure Miss Lobato is made aware of her new status."

* * *

Sharpe accepted the rifle from the armourer, looking down the barrel and stroking it, feeling the ammunition packet with the bullets and powder clipped to his belt. It felt good to be carrying a weapon again. He remembered two years earlier, when he'd first joined the rifles, how he'd felt that this was what he'd been aiming for: Fighting alongside the men, proving himself as both an officer and a soldier. But then the loss of Grace and their son had left him in a depression that had consigned him to the role of quartermaster, a role where the army seemed happy to leave him to rot, his years of duty forgotten.

"What are you going to do with that, sir?"asked a sneering voice

Sharpe looked round sharply at the speaker. Rifleman Patrick Harper, one of Murray's company. The Irishman had a reputation as a troublemaker, insolent towards almost all officers, especially the ageing second lieutenant raised from the ranks and left to languish as a non-combatant. Yet somehow Murray had won his trust and for that reason Harper seemed willing to fight for him.

"Same as you, soldier,"Sharpe snapped back. "Fight the French."

Harper gave a snort of derision that would probably have resulted in any other officer putting him on a charge. "You'll be fighting to protect our supplies, sir?"

"I'll be fighting for the same reason as you, Harper,"Sharpe answered and he couldn't help giving a smirk. "For the King of England."

Harper glowered at that. Like many Irish soldiers, he was unhappy about his home being ruled by an English king and an English parliament, even though he had enlisted to fight for them. "Well, I'd really like to see you fight, sir,"he said at last.

Sharpe walked up to him, his eyes cold. "One day, you might just do that,"he replied. "Now get back to your duties."

Harper snapped to attention, somehow managing to make even that seem like an insult. "Sir."

Sharpe shook his head in disgust, before returning to his own duties.

* * *

Delfina seemed to settle in to her self-appointed role as Sharpe's assistant well. Most of the battalion seemed happy to leave them to themselves and Sharpe rarely saw his fellow officers except when he was bringing round the supplies. Some of the Portugese villagers had taken to visiting this new army that was going to rid their country of the French and Delfina had proved a useful translator when Sharpe needed to communicate with them.

"Are you sure you don't want to go with them?"Sharpe asked after one visit.

Delfina shook her head. "It is not safe for me here. I must go elsewhere."

"We're heading south,"Sharpe told her. "Do you think you could settle there?"

"Perhaps, perhaps,"she replied, obviously not wanting to commit to an answer. And somehow, Sharpe found the idea of her sticking around oddly appealing.

When the army finally left Mondego Bay, it took them a day to reach their next destination, Leiria. That was where the Portugese army commanded by General Freire was stationed, the first Portugese troops to join Wellesley's army.

Sharpe stood apart from the rest of the battalion as they waited for orders. Their generals were meeting with the Portugese generals and soon they would all be marching south, where the French waited. When he saw Wellesley and his staff returning, he felt sure things were going their way. But then he noticed the feeling of discontentment spreading around the army.

Sharpe picked out Murray. He knew that the captain would have spoken to Dunnett or Travers or maybe even Wade about it. And he knew Murray would speak to him, something other officers seemed to do only with great reluctance. "What's going on, sir?"he asked.

Murray sighed. "The Portugese don't agree with Wellesley's plan. They don't want a direct confrontation. They've tried that before and been beaten. They're going to wait here until they see proof that Wellesley's scheme will succeed."

Sharpe struggled to process this. "They're not coming with us?"

"They're giving us fifteen hundred men."

"Fifteen hundred?" Sharpe was astonished. "They must have four times that much here."

"They have,"Murray confirmed. "The troops are led by an Irish colonel. They were all Freire is willing to let us have."

And that was all there was to it. The decision had been made, made at a level far above Sharpe's head. Fifteen hundred men would join their army and that and their own fourteen thousand was all the men they would have when they confronted the French.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

"I am sorry,"Delfina said quietly.

They were sitting in Sharpe's tent, Sharpe cleaning his rifle while Delfina sat on the camp bed. He turned and looked at her. "What are you sorry for?"

"For my people. That they would not help you."

Sharpe gave an offhand shrug. "It's not your fault."

"They are afraid. Perhaps you do not understand, this has never happened to your country. Foreign soldiers thinking it is _their_ country now, that they can do what they like to you. My people have tried to fight the French before but every time we have been beaten. They are afraid. They think if you fight the French, they will beat you too. They don't want to be there. But you are here to help us, we should not leave you to fight alone."

Sharpe felt awkward at the outpouring of emotion. He didn't feel he deserved it. "You're apologising to the wrong person,"he said. "I'm not here because of your people. I'm here because I'm a soldier in the king's army and Bonaparte is the king's enemy. That's all."

"You try to pretend you are not a good person,"Delfina told him. "But you are. I heard what your officers wanted to do with me. They wanted to send me away, make me someone else's problem. But you insisted I stay. You look after me."

Sharpe didn't know if he was a good person or not. Some people said he was, some people said he was from the gutter. He knew that the last one was right but the first one? Was simply doing what was decent enough to make him a good person? "I just did what anyone else would have done."

"No. They wouldn't." Delfina shifted forward slightly. "I won't always be here."

The comment affected Sharpe more than it should. "You won't?"

"No. I will have to leave your army eventually, to find a home with my people." She laid a hand on his. "But while I am here, I want to show you how good you are."

They both slept in the tent that night.

* * *

Sharpe approached the group of officers with a certain amount of trepidation, a trepidation that increased when Dunnett noticed him. "Don't you have duties to be getting on with, Mister Sharpe?"he asked with his usual disdain.

"Lieutenant Sharpe is involved in this,"Wade told him. "He needs to know the battalion's movements."

Dunnett was clearly not happy but he remained quiet. Sharpe, feeling more comfortable, joined the group of a dozen or so – Wade, Travers, Dunnett and the captains and lieutenants – gathered around a map.

"The 95th will be forming the vanguard of the army,"Wade explained. "Wellesley has heard that a small group of Frenchmen are holed up in a place called Rolica. We have to lead the army there."

"What route will we be taking?"Travers asked.

"That's largely been left up to us."

"It's dangerous country,"Murray noted. "There'll be plenty of positions where an enemy can ambush us."

"Are there any safe harbours along the way?"asked Lieutenant Bunbury.

"None that we know of,"Wade replied.

"What about here?"asked Machin, gesturing to a point on the map.

The other officers looked where he was pointing. "Obidos,"read Murray. "Why there in particular?"

"It's a small village, we're likely to get a friendly reception. Lieutenant Sharpe could get some more supplies."

Sharpe felt all eyes on him. The attention made him uncomfortable. "We always need more supplies,"he confirmed. "Stuff doesn't keep long."

"There could be a French patrol there,"Murray argued.

"What if there is?"Machin retorted. "They won't be expecting us and they can't be in any great force. It'll give us some rifle practise."

"Very well,"Wade agreed. "We'll make towards Obidos. Major Travers, form up the leading companies."

* * *

Sharpe was unsure of his duties or even if he had any. He walked with the leading companies, his rifle at the ready. Cooper and another soldier, Wright, had been assigned the job of looking after the carts and mule carrying the supplies and were walking dutifully behind him.

Obidos was in sight and there was a relaxed feeling that they were nearly at their destination when there was a crack of a musket. Sharpe saw Bunbury's head snap back and then the lieutenant fell, a deep gorge in his temple showing where the bullet had struck and killed him.

"Take cover!"Travers shouted. Sharpe dived to the floor as musket balls struck the ground around him. A French patrol, close. Very close, to be firing with such deadly accuracy. Sharpe watched the pattern of the bullets, estimated where they were coming from, aimed his rifle and fired. He was rewarded with a cry of pain but whether the man was wounded or killed he couldn't tell.

Sharpe scrambled forward to where Travers was crouched. There were four companies with them, the others held in reserve. The captains and their junior officers were all readily visible bar the dead Bunbury. Then Sharpe realised someone was missing. "Where's Machin?"

"He's with Dunnett,"Travers replied. "One of the other companies was a lieutenant down."

Sharpe nodded as another bullet flew past them. "How did they know we were coming?"

"Don't be so paranoid, Sharpe,"Travers snapped. "They were lucky, that's all." He raised his voice. "Battalion, fire in pairs!" He glanced at his quartermaster. "Looks like you're with me, Sharpe."

The riflemen began firing in the well-drilled manner, one of the pair firing while the other reloaded. The returning fire from the French became less and less frequent and Sharpe realised the distance they were firing at was longer and longer. "We've got them on the run, sir!"shouted Sergeant Williams from Murray's company.

"They must be retreating back to Obidos,"Sharpe said quietly.

"Then advance!"Travers shouted. "We'll teach those Frogs to fire at us."


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

It was twenty minutes later when Sharpe realised that it had gone wrong.

Everything had proceeded as planned at first. The four companies of the 95th had pursued the French skirmishers towards Obidos. Their bayonets were fixed, their blood up and it was only a matter of time before the French felt the full force of their killing lust and realised that the riflemen had arrived in the Peninsular.

Then the musket fire started. The volley fire of trained soldiers cut into the ranks of the 95th. Sharpe heard screams all about him as men were hit or simply panicked by the sudden realisation that they were under fire. All order was lost as they scrambled for cover. Sharpe saw one of the riflemen at the front of the pack hit in the throat and fall, blood pouring from the wound as he gave a final choking sound and died. He saw a lieutenant hit in the leg and pull up, his sergeant running to support him as they both took shelter behind a building.

"There's a whole battalion of them here!"Travers realised, sounding as if he thought the French had played some sort of underhand trick on him.

"We need to pull back, sir!"Murray recommended.

"There's not enough cover,"Travers pointed out.

"Their muskets haven't got much of a range,"Sharpe suggested.

"Maybe not,"Travers answered. "But we're inside it." He raised his voice. "Battalion, return fire! Pick your targets!"

Sharpe removed the bayonet from his rifle. It was clear it wasn't needed and would only get in the way of firing. He touched the sword at his side, realising he hadn't drawn it as an officer normally would. He still couldn't get used to not fighting like he did when he was in the ranks.

The riflemen began to return fire but it was clear they were outnumbered. They might manage to pick off a few of their opponents but they would soon be overrun.

Then Sharpe heard the sound of a bugle behind them. He twisted his head round and saw horsemen, in British uniform, riding up the path behind them, swords raised. "It's Spencer!"Travers realised.

The French troops might have been able to hold a few companies but they didn't have enough men to handle a full brigade. They fled. The British horsemen reined in their pursuit, content to let the troops retreat rather than picking off stragglers.

Travers stood to attention as General Spencer, the brigade commander, approached him on horseback. "You seem to have run into a spot of trouble, Major,"Spencer remarked.

"More of them than we expected,"Travers admitted.

"Easy mistake to make. Good job we turned up when we did. Still, Obidos is ours now. You'd better find some billets."

* * *

Sharpe spent the next two days sorting out living arrangements for the men that were his responsibility. Billets in houses were found for the officers while the men had to make do with whatever stables they could find. Sharpe had managed to get Delfina a place in the house where he had been billeted, passing her off as his wife. He wasn't sure if their hosts were entirely convinced but if they did have their suspicions they kept them to themselves.

"Sharpe, there you are!"a voice called out.

Sharpe turned to see Machin hurrying towards him, seemingly without a care in the world. Sharpe couldn't help feeling resentful. He knew it was foolish of him but Machin had avoided the fighting that had left four men dead and more wounded. "What can I do for you, sir?"he asked, his resentment tinging the respectful response.

"Rations for the company, Sharpe. Dunnett's getting quite worried."

"I'll get them to you soon as I can."

Sharpe waited for Machin to leave but he didn't seem in any hurry to do so. "I hear you ran into a spot of bother."

Sharpe sighed. "French were waiting for us."

Machin looked startled at that. "Are you sure?"

Sharpe shrugged. "Either that or they got lucky. They had an ambush prepared."

"Well, luck is a quality that all of us need in war, Sharpe. The trick is to make your own luck."

"Sharpe!"called another voice. Sharpe looked round to see Travers standing with Wade and Dunnett. "Staff officers are needed for a meeting with Sir Arthur."

Sharpe hadn't even known Wellesley had arrived in Obidos but before he could respond Dunnett gave a grunt of distaste. "Mister Sharpe is not a staff officer."

"He's my quartermaster,"Travers pointed out. "He needs to be kept informed."

Sharpe stood still, uncertain which of the two majors to listen to. "Well, come along then!"Wade snapped.

With that, Sharpe moved to join his three superiors. "Let me know how it goes!"Machin called after him.

* * *

When Sharpe saw the company he was in, he felt even more out of place. The room was full of generals and he wasn't sure if there was anyone else there lower than a major. He had a sudden feeling that Travers had simply used him to prove a point with Dunnett, parading him around in this illustrious company.

"Colonel Wade!"The speaker drew all attention to himself and Sharpe saw it was Sir Arthur Wellesley. He'd been this close to Wellesley before, of course, when he'd been his orderly at Assaye. Somehow, this felt different. "I understand one of the wings of your battalion was the first to encounter the French."

"Yes, sir,"Wade confirmed. "Major Travers here was in command."

"They had a full battalion stationed in Obidos,"Travers noted. "There may well be a division close by."

"Intelligence concurs with you, Major,"Wellesley agreed. He seemed to notice the presence of the junior officer in their midst for the first time and walked over to him. "Mister Sharpe, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir,"Sharpe answered, feeling all eyes on him.

Wellesley made a show of checking his epaulettes. "Still only a second lieutenant, eh? Your ambition must have waned slightly since you convinced me to give you a field commission."

"Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. I mean…"

Wellesley turned away from him, a fact Sharpe met with relief. "The French retreated towards here." He poked his finger at a map. "Rolica. As far as we can tell, they're still there. Get your men ready to move out, gentlemen."

There was a murmuring of shock at the sudden twist the meeting had taken. "Sir?"someone asked, confused.

There was a gleam in Wellesley's eyes as he faced them. "Here at Obidos, gentlemen, we fought a skirmish. At Rolica, we will fight a battle."


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

Sharpe wondered what the French were thinking. There seemed to be no way for them to win the battle, yet there seemed to be no way for the British to win it either. At the start of the day, victory had seemed certain. Their army, augmented by the thousand or so Portugese troops, was three or four times the size of the French one, a numerical advantage that only the most incompetent of generals could have failed to capitalise on.

The plan that Sir Arthur Wellesley had conceived was simple. With the two armies facing each other, the centre of the British army could happily exchange fire with the French while the two flanks moved round in a pincer movement and encircled the enemy, leaving them completely surrounded and with a stark choice between surrendering and being crushed.

Yet the French were no fools. They knew they were outnumbered and they knew what could happen to them. Every time the British trap was about to snap shut, they pulled their army back, out of reach of the flanking movement, advancing again only when it was safe to do so.

None of which concerned Sharpe. He and the rest of the 95th were in the centre of the British battle order, in General Fane's brigade. Sharpe was carrying a rifle and had even been called upon to fire it a few occasions, performing the quick drill with the rest of the battalion. He had no responsibility since the supplies were safely out of harm's way so his only job was to stand and fight. Fight a battle that seemed ready to end in a stalemate.

Then everything changed.

A battalion of soldiers in the British line, apparently tired of the slow warfare, suddenly broke into a run, charging at the French position. Sharpe saw their colours and recognised the 29th, the Worcestershire Regiment. The redcoats charged screaming at their French opponents until they were within range of their muskets. Then the French fired and the first British troops started falling.

Sharpe felt the madness infecting the soldiers around him as they witnessed their comrades being slaughtered. He knew what was about to happen and he knew it was folly, but in battle decision making often relied as much on the anger in the soldiers' blood as on tactics. The entire British centre charged, following the precipitous 29th towards the French. The time for measured volley fire was over. Now it would be sword against sword, bayonet against bayonet, a succession of rapidly fired shots. The most desperate part of the fight would begin.

* * *

Machin made sure he was at the rear of the 95th as they joined the general charge towards the French. He wished he could have stayed behind altogether but a lack of willingness would be suspicious. He had had no chance to speak with Lenoir since arriving in Obidos and even if he had, he wasn't sure what useful information he could have given him. It was pure luck that Wellesley, with his small number of men, had come across an even smaller number of French troops.

But Machin knew this would not be the last battle fought in the Peninsular. And when the next one came, he would be ready.

* * *

Sharpe slashed with his sword, giving any Frenchman who came within his reach a fierce slice that left them retreating with a wimper, if they were able to. There seemed to be a distressing number of them, probably seeking to bag themselves an officer. Sharpe laughed at the idea, wondering if they knew they were trying to kill the most pointless officer in the regiment. He was surprised Dunnett wasn't cheering them on.

The initial blood lust that had spurred the British into this attack was waning. The French held the high ground and were holding their position, content to stand and maintain fire against the advancing enemy. The British had been forced back many times, yet stubborn pride caused them to regroup and maintain the attack, an attack that had not been ordered but which they had committed to.

And then the two British flanks appeared over the hillsides to either side of them and Sharpe realised that this time, the ferocious fight had distracted the French from seeing them coming. He spotted Wellesley himself leading one of the two flanks and realised the general must have rallied the troops in this plan as soon as he saw what his centre was doing.

There was no time for the French to pull back and form a new line this time. The pincer movement was closing in on them and within minutes they would be crushed in it. So they did the only thing they could. They ran.

A great cheer went up from the British as they realised it was over. Rolica was won.

* * *

Sharpe ached all over the next morning. He sat on the bed, his chest and back bare, examining himself for injuries sustained in the desperate fighting. So much for being in a non-combatant role.

Delfina sat up in bed, draping the sheets around her, and ran a soft hand over his chest. "You are covered in bruises,"she told him. "Did I do that to you?"

"I think most of it was the French,"he answered.

"What will you do now?"

Sharpe shrugged. "Follow them, I suppose. What about you? Will you follow them or will you stay here?"

Delfina lowered her eyes a moment. "I don't know,"she answered. "I can't stay with you forever. But it feels like I have unfinished business."

Sharpe was distracted by the shouts from outside. He pulled on a shirt and ran to the door to find men moving around, obviously in the midst of some great activity. He saw Machin nearby. "Sir! What's going on?"

Machin came over to him. "We're moving out, Sharpe. Heading south. To a place called Vimiero."

The name meant nothing to Sharpe. "Is that where the French are?"he asked.

Machin gave a superior smile. "That's where the _British_ are, Sharpe. Four thousand extra troops are landing near there and we're to cover their disembarkation."

Sharpe nodded. "Good."

"Not sure if Sir Arthur thinks so. The new troops are led by Sir Harry Burrard."

Sharpe was unfamiliar with the name but caught the implication. "Burrard's senior to him?"

Machin nodded. "Poor Wellesley much think himself hard done by. He wins a battle and gets replaced."

"Richard?" Sharpe looked round to see Delfina had followed him out, having pulled a dress on. But for some reason she was not looking at him. She was looking at Machin, as if she'd seen a ghost. And he was looking at her with a certain amount of curiosity.

Then the moment passed and Machin turned to Sharpe. "You'd better get your supplies ready for transport,"he said before moving on.

Sharpe went to join Delfina, who was staring after the departing officer in horror. "That man…"

"Lieutenant Machin?"

"I've seen him before, in Figueira. He was talking with a Frenchman. Talking with him as if they were friends." She had suddenly turned white. "Richard, your Lieutenant Machin is the man I was running from when we first met."


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

The French were coming.

No-one was sure when they were coming or where they were coming but everyone knew they were coming. The positions had been reversed. Whereas before the British needed to attack the French before they had time to reinforce their men, now the French army in Portugal needed to hit hard and fast before the British ships carrying additional troops arrived. The French were coming to Vimiero. It was just a question of when. But Sharpe had a feeling there was one person in the British camp who knew better than others.

Sharpe watched from his bedroom window as the lieutenant assigned to number five company walked across the courtyard below him, before looking back at Delfina, lying in bed. "You're sure it was him you saw?"

He had asked the question many times and he could tell Delfina was getting tired of answering it. "Yes, I'm sure."

"And you're sure it was a French officer with him?"

"He wore a French uniform."

Sharpe nodded. "There's probably some explanation. Maybe they went to the same party once. Or maybe the Frenchman's spying for us." But deep down, Sharpe knew the most likely explanation. There were many reasons he didn't want to believe it, not least the fact that he liked Machin. But he knew there was every likelihood that the lieutenant was passing information to the French.

* * *

Sharpe stood to attention before his commanding officer. Wade continued to sign reports for a few minutes longer before looking up at him. "Lieutenant Sharpe."

"I wish to discuss Lieutenant Machin, sir."

"Continue."

"I have a witness who says that in Figueira, he met with a French officer."

"Yes?"

Sharpe felt suddenly foolish. "That's all, sir."

"Your witness being..?"

"Senhorita Lobato, sir. The young Portugese woman I met in Figueira."

"Who is, I believe, still being granted the courtesy of your bed,"Wade remarked, with a slight twinkle.

Sharpe was aware the conversation was getting away from him. "I wondered if you were aware of the reasons for this meeting."

"No,"Wade answered. "I'm not. Nor am I aware of the reason why Lieutenant Machin has requested permission to carry out a solo patrol for two days. But it does concern me. You were at Copenhagen, were you not?"

Sharpe was taken aback by the sudden change of subject. "Yes, sir. I was. With the first battalion."

"You spent some time on…detached duties, investigating an officer whose loyalties had been proven to be unreliable. I think you should assume that role again. Take three men. I'll square it with Major Travers."

* * *

Sharpe heard a rifle clatter behind him and turned angrily on the man who had dropped it. "Keep that under control! Don't you know there could be patrols about?"

"Sorry, sir,"Miller apologised. "But we've been marching for hours, sir."

Sharpe cast his eye over the trio of soldiers: Cooper, Jackson and Miller. They were unhappy about being assigned to take orders from the battalion quartermaster and even less happy about being made to march after an officer on horseback. There was only one horse in the group and Delfina was riding it, after refusing to be left behind. Sharpe had felt giving her the horse was the gentlemanly thing. It also saved him the trouble of having to ride it himself.

"Richard,"she called from the saddle. "There's something ahead. I can see smoke."

"Is something burning?"Jackson asked rather redundantly.

"Maybe they've set fire to a village,"Cooper suggested.

Delfina shook her head. "There are no villages near here."

"They're campfires,"Sharpe replied. "That's not a village, it's an army."

They reached the top of a hill, looked down…and in that moment, everything Sharpe had suspected was confirmed. Below them was the French army. Thousands of them. And galloping towards them, accepted as a friend, was the solitary figure of Lieutenant Machin.


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

Sharpe led the group as they crept from rock to rock, approaching the French camp, following Machin. Delfina had dismounted from her horse and was at his side, with Cooper, Jackson and Miller following. They saw Machin meeting a large group of soldiers and embracing the senior of the group. "Who is that?" Delfina asked.

"I don't know,"Sharpe admitted. "But that's the uniform of a general."

"Sir,"Cooper called in a loud whisper.

"Keep it down, Cooper,"Sharpe snapped. "We don't want them to know we're here."

"I think it's a bit late for that, sir."

Sharpe turned round and saw what Cooper meant. There was a French officer on horseback, his pistol aimed straight at Sharpe. Four French infantry surrounded him, their muskets aimed at the rest of the group.

Sharpe drew himself up straight. "I'm Lieutenant Richard Sharpe of the British army and these are my men. We're in uniform and armed. That makes us prisoners of war."

The French officer inclined his head. "D'accord. You will offer me your parole?"

"No,"Sharpe replied curtly.

The French officer seemed amused at the comment. "No?"

"There's going to be a battle soon, sir. And I intend to be back with my army to see it. Can't escape if I've promised you I won't."

"Very well, Lieutenant. Then you and your men will be kept under close guard." The officer looked towards Delfina, who shrank back from him nervously. "This young lady, I know her."

"I was escorting her, sir. She is under my protection."

"I see." The officer nodded formally. "I am Captain Lenoir. And you, unless I am mistaken, are an officer of the 95th, the same regiment as my friend Machin. Is this a coincidence?"

"I came here to find Machin,"Sharpe admitted.

"Maybe so. But I suspect that the rest of your army does not know where Machin is. So, all the better that you stay here."

* * *

Lenoir entered the tent where his superior was sat with Machin. "General Brennier. We have captured a group of British soldiers who followed Lieutenant Machin here."

Brennier rounded on Machin angrily. "Have you betrayed us?!"

"No!"Machin protested.

"I believe he speaks the truth, General,"Lenoir agreed. "It seems the men were suspicious of Lieutenant Machin. They are led by a Lieutenant Sharpe."

"Sharpe?"Machin repeated. "He's not a proper officer, he's the battalion quartermaster! Wellesley promoted him from the ranks."

"He must have done something to deserve this?"Brennier suggested.

"He may have been a good fighter when he was younger,"Machin admitted,"but since he got his commission he's been stuck as a glorified clerk."

"I have had him and his men secured,"Lenoir confirmed. "The officer refused to give his parole."

"I imagine old habits die hard,"Machin replied.

"You are sure the information you gave is valid?"Brennier interceded, trying to get the conversation back on track.

Machin nodded. "I've seen Wellesley's battle plan. The 29th, the regiment that made the doomed attack at Rolica, will be on the ridge. That's the weakest point. If you attack there, you can break through."

"And you will do your bit?"Brennier asked.

"I will." Machin turned to Lenoir. "Let me see your prisoners before I go."

* * *

Sharpe glowered as Machin entered the tent where his party were being held. His men and Delfina glared at the treacherous lieutenant with equal hostility. "I suppose there would be no point in claiming this isn't what it looks like?"Machin asked.

"You're a damn traitor,"Sharpe said sourly.

"Yes, I suppose I am. But then I suppose you have to believe in something in order to betray it. Noble families have been sending their younger sons off to join the army for years. It's a hobby, something to keep us occupied. They don't expect us to actually get killed. And that's what will happen if I do things your way."

"That is why you betray us all?"Delfina demanded. "You came here to fight these people!"

"I want to be on the winning side,"Machin replied. "It's as simple as that. There isn't a power in Europe who can stand against Bonaparte's armies. They're going to crush Wellesley at Vimiero and I'm going to make sure when that happens that they know I'm their friend. What about you, Sharpe?"

Sharpe looked at him curiously. "Me?"

"Are you going to follow Wellesley's flag or are you going to join the winning side?"

"I'm a soldier,"Sharpe replied. "I fight in this uniform and if I die in it, then it's only what I expected the moment I put it on."

"Very honourable. Then I leave you here with General Brennier. I have an important message to deliver to the 29th." He turned and stepped out of the tent.

Sharpe waited until he was certain Machin had gone before turning to the others. "Now listen. There's a battle that's going to be fought and we're going to be in it. We're going to tell them what Machin's done and we're going to make sure he's stopped."

The faces of his three men looked at him with uncertainty. "And how are we going to do that, sir?" Cooper asked.

"We're going to escape."

* * *

Pierre Monsignon, on duty outside the tent, was relaxed. The British soldiers inside were in chains and there was nothing they could do to escape. He heard a thump inside and lifted open the flap to see the British officer lying on the ground, the others grouped around him. "He has an old wound,"Delfina insisted. "He needs medical attention."

Monsignon gestured with his musket. "Move away from him." The others complied and Monsignon crept forward to examine the prone Sharpe.

Sharpe opened his eyes and flung the chains binding his arms around Monsignon's throat, cutting off his air supply. The Frenchman struggled for breath but was unable to break Sharpe's grip. "Get his keys," Sharpe snapped. Miller fished a set of keys from the soldier's belt and began undoing everyone's bonds. Sharpe released his grip slightly. "Where are our weapons? Our rifles?"

Monsignon pointed. "Tent… over there."

Sharpe clubbed him unconscious.

"You will not kill him?"Delfina asked.

"No,"Sharpe answered. Even though he hadn't given his parole, killing the guards after making an honourable surrender didn't sit right with him. "Come on."

He led his group out of the tent in the direction Monsignon had indicated. He saw another tent with two guards on it. He nodded to Cooper and Jackson and they sneaked up behind the pair and knocked them out. Sharpe led the way into the tent. The British rifles stood out among the French weapons. Sharpe and his men retrieved them, along with a decent stock of ammunition. Gesturing for quiet, Sharpe led them away from the camp.

Then he heard musket fire behind him, turned and saw Miller and Jackson cut down. A French patrol stood kneeling, having discharged all their weapons. His resolve gone, Sharpe raised his rifle and fired, downing one of them. "Come on,"he snapped and he ran, Delfina and Cooper just behind him.

The French gave pursuit and Sharpe dragged the pair into the rocks, gesturing for them to stay low and quiet. The Frenchmen ran on. "Now what?"Delfina asked quietly.

"We go to Vimiero,"Sharpe replied. There was going to be a battle. And Sharpe was going to be part of it.


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

Black smoke hung in the air, obscuring the soldiers' sight. The smoke came from the discharge of muskets, rifles and pistols, of cannon and shot, and it never lifted because each volley was rapidly followed by another. All across the valley around Vimiero, troops exchanged fire, lines of British and French soldiers giving each other volley fire.

"Skirmish line!"Travers ordered.

Murray heard the order and knew it fell to him to respond. "The 95th light company will deploy skirmishers!"he shouted. "Sergeant Williams!"

"Yes, sir!"his sergeant responded.

"Take a platoon of men round to the right." Murray's eyes travelled over his company and rested on one figure. "Rifleman Harper!"

"Sir?"Harper replied.

"Take six men to the left."

Murray knew Harper wouldn't refuse the order. He had always refused a position of seniority, insisting on remaining a rifleman, but his leadership skills on a battlefield were unquestionable. "Yes, sir!"the Irishman responded. "Harris, Perkins, Gataker, Sims, Slattery and Dodd, with me!"

Murray saw his troops fan out and take up their position scattered in front of the battallion, waiting for the approaching French column. "Fire when ready!"he ordered and saw his men and the skirmishers from the other two regiments in the brigade, the 60th and the 50th, opened fire on the French. The French troops were deployed in column, preparing to smash through the British line, and were unprepared for the onslaught from the British rifles. Their ranks began to crumble under the precision fire.

Murray was confident his men could stop this advance here. But the rest of the battle was another matter.

* * *

Machin was not with his regiment. He saw no point since they would soon be overrun. Even if the French frontal attack failed, he knew the pincer movement he had devised would win the day. But it didn't help to edge things along a bit. Which was why he stood with the 29th on the northeastern ridge of the battlefield.

"I'm telling you, General Nightingale has given orders to withdraw to a more secure position,"he snapped.

"This position is secure!"Colonel Forbes retorted. "Didn't you see what we did to that last lot of Crapauds?"

Machin had seen and he winced at the memory. He had no idea where Brenier's attack was but another French division had assaulted the ridge and been slaughtered. Something, somewhere had gone wrong and it was up to him to bring it back on track. "A creditable victory, sir,"he confirmed. "But surely recent events have shown you that overconfidence can be a problem?"

Forbes bristled at the mention of the events at Rolica. He examined Machin's uniform. "Who are you, anyway? You don't look like a staff officer. Isn't that a rifles uniform?"

"I'm on attachment, sir,"Machin replied smoothly. "And I'm telling you to get off this ridge."

* * *

Lenoir was cursing their misfortune. Their attempt to reach the ridge through trees had only caused confusion and they were late arriving at the ridge. Even worse, it was clear a battle had already been fought there, as the French dead littering the floor indicated.

And yet somehow, that proved to be to their advantage. For as they formed up and opened fire on the first two British battalions defending the ridge, the enemy soldiers were taken completely unawares, too busy celebrating their victory to consider there might be more French coming. The French bullets cut them down, having the advantage not only of surprise but the advantage of numbers as well.

"Onwards, onwards!"Brennier was shouting. "The ridge is ours!"

* * *

Sharpe could see the battlefield down below him as he, Delfina and Cooper stood on a ridge overlooking the valley. He noticed the colours of the 95th in the centre of the line and felt a small amount of pride that they were holding their own. But then his eyes fell on the weak point, the northeastern ridge. He could see two British battalions caught unawares, being overrun by French troops. And the next battalion in the line seemed equally unaware, not yet deployed in a defensive position. There seemed to be a debate going on and then Sharpe recognised one of the officers involved in the debate. Machin.

"Come on!"he shouted and led the party towards the ridge. As he got there, he overheard them talking.

"Very well,"Forbes was saying. "Prepare to withdraw."

"No!"Sharpe shouted, as he ran up, out of breath. "The French are coming, sir. You need to redeploy and defend this position."

"Who the devil are you, sir?"Forbes demanded.

"Lieutenant Sharpe, Rifles."

"Ignore him,"Machin insisted. "He's a jumped up sergeant who doesn't know what he's talking about."

"This man,"Sharpe retorted, gesturing to Machin,"is a traitor. He knows the French are on their way, that's why he wants you to pull back." He saw Forbes' disbelieving look. "If you pull back, the French will have the ridge,"he persisted. "They'll have the high ground. Don't you get it? We'll be finished!"


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

Forbes looked from Sharpe to Machin. "Do either of you possess any authority for the instructions you give?"

"Listen,"Sharpe snapped.

"I have listened to you, Lieutenant…"

"Not to me! Just listen."

Forbes stopped and listened. And heard gunfire and the shouts of men dying, just a few yards away. "You see?"Sharpe demanded.

Forbes turned back to his troops. "Major! Form men in line. Be ready to repulse any attack on this position." He glared at Machin. "And you, sir. Explain yourself."

Machin seemed to consider his answer for a moment…then he ran.

"Sergeant, get after that man!"Forbes bellowed to one of his troops.

"Let me,"Sharpe insisted. "I've got a score to settle with him."

Forbes nodded. "As you wish, Mister Sharpe."

Sharpe turned to the one surviving soldier under his command. "Cooper, give these people a hand. Colonel, I'd be obliged if you'd see to the young lady."

As Sharpe ran after Machin, Forbes doffed his hat to Delfina. "Stand by me, my dear. It's probably the safest place to be. Unless one of the French wants to bag himself an officer, of course."

* * *

Brennier's brigade had cut through two British battalions and Brennier was feeling confident. The ridge would soon be his and with that foothold the French would be able to turn the tide of the battle. And the credit and the glory would be his, with all the promotions and honours that went with it.

Then, as if from out of nowhere, a volley of fire cut into the front rank of his troops. Brennier reined in his horse and realised, to his horror, that the next British battalion was assembled and ready to meet their attack. Worse, it was the 29th, the very regiment that Machin had assured them would give no trouble.

"Lenoir!"he bellowed angrily. "What has your man done?" He looked around for a response and saw Lenoir lying dead, a bullet hole in his temple.

"_Tirez_!"French officers and sergeants were yelling all along the column but the British were well drilled and their volley fire continued to cut swathes through the ranks. Fire which only increased as two more battalions, alerted to the 29th's stand, joined them and added their own muskets to those resisting the French advance.

And then the column broke and the soldiers were running. Brennier made to join them but a musketball struck his horse and the animal fell, pitching him to the ground. When he looked up, he found himself surrounded by British soldiers, bayonets fixed to their rifles. He slowly raised his hands, hoping they would decide that capturing a French general would be more impressive than killing him.

* * *

A great cheer went up from the 95th as the French ran. "We did it, sir, we did it!"Harper shouted, seemingly forgetting his and his captain's relevant positions in his enthusiasm.

Murray gave a restrained nod. "Let the men know that I'll be providing them with extra rum rations tonight."

"Yes, sir. I'll tell them, sir." Harper ran back to the small group of men he'd commanded. "Good news, lads. The officer's paying for wine, woman and song tonight."

Murray looked round and saw his opposite number in the 60th, a man with an eyepatch and a loose-fitting wig who looked like he'd fought in every war since the American Revolution. "Captain John Murray,"he introduced himself.

The other nodded. "Captain William Frederickson."

"Your men fought well, Captain Frederickson. I hope I have another opportunity to fight alongside them one day."

"Thank you, Captain Murray. I hope I get to fight alongside your men again some time too."

* * *

Machin ran through the battlefield, Sharpe close behind him. Not that it was much of a battlefield anymore. Everywhere he looked, French regiments seemed to be turning tail and running, leaving cheering British soldiers in their wake. His strategy had failed and he was in severe danger of being left on the losing side.

"Machin!"Sharpe was bellowing. "Stand and fight!"

With that, Machin stopped and drew his sword. This was his only chance, he realised. The officers of the 29th that he had spoken to would have difficulty identifying him, which left Sharpe as his only obstacle. If Sharpe was dead, he could return to the 95th and contrive some reason for his absence. And then perhaps, he could devise another way of ensuring he came out of this war on top. He looked at Sharpe dismissively. "Have you ever used a sword before, Sharpe?"

"Five years ago, on the battlement at Gawilghur,"Sharpe replied,"I fought the best swordsman I've ever seen. I came away alive. He didn't."

"You beat him?"

"With a bit of help."

Machin relaxed slightly. "You won't have any this time,"he replied. He lunged with his sword and Sharpe hurried to deflect it. Machin smiled, making lunge after lunge that caught Sharpe on the backfoot as he clumsily struggled to match the blows.

Sharpe could feel his anger building. Machin had been born to privilege, given everything that Sharpe and others had not. And yet he had turned his back on his fellow soldiers while good men fought and died for a shilling. He put that anger into his attack as he swung brutally at Machin. Machin was taken aback by the sudden ferocity and suddenly he was on the backfoot, struggling to fend off Sharpe's blows. Sharpe lashed out with a foot, catching Machin on the leg and knocking him off balance. And as Machin fell, he fell onto Sharpe's sword. Sharpe twisted the blade, piercing Machin's chest, then pulled it out. Machin fell again and didn't get up.

Sharpe bent next to the lieutenant, searching his pockets, and retrieved a small bag full of gold coins. He put it into his own pocket, then he turned and left, leaving Machin lying on the field with the rest of the dead of Vimiero.


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Sharpe stood at the coast watching a fleet of Royal Navy ships transporting an army. He couldn't help remembering how just a few weeks ago, he had been part of an army that had arrived in Portugal in just such a fleet. But this fleet was not taking troops to Portugal but away from it. And the troops on them were not British but French.

"So what do you think of our new commander's strategy, Mister Sharpe?"

Sharpe turned at the voice and was shocked to find Sir Arthur Wellesley standing next to him. The army's former commander had been superseded by the arrival of two senior generals, Sir Huw Delrymple and Sir Harry Burrard. It had been they who had accepted the French surrender and arranged to have their army transported out of Portugal with full equipment.

Sharpe simply shrugged. He found the terms of the truce puzzling but had no wish to insult a senior officer.

"Simply outrageous,"continued Wellesley, who obviously had no such qualms. "Really, Sir Huw has no idea how to conduct a war. He thinks he can beat Bonaparte by patting his marshals on the head and sending them on their way. When London finds out that we gave safe passage to a defeated enemy, there'll be hell to pay."

"Perhaps they'll put you back in charge, sir,"Sharpe suggested casually.

Wellesley stared at him. "Are you attempting to flatter me, Mister Sharpe? In the hope I might further your career again?"

"Wouldn't dream of it, sir."

Wellesley examined Sharpe's insignia. "Still a second lieutenant, eh? There are peculiar stories claiming that you played your own small part in our victory at Vimiero. You really should put as much effort into your career as into this cloak and dagger business. You never known where you might end up."

* * *

Sharpe made his way through the streets of Vimiero to a particular tavern. He took a few gold coins out of Machin's purse and kept them in his hand until a certain bar wrench came in sight, then pressed them into her palm. "A mug of ale, please, senhorita. Keep the change."

Delfina's eyes lit up at the sight of him. "Richard!" She kissed him tenderly. "What are you doing here?"

"Just thought I'd see how you're settling in with your new employer here. If you ever want to go back to following the army…"

"You did me much kindness, Richard, but now Machin is dead, it is time I have my life back. I have made friends here now."

"Good,"Sharpe answered and, to his surprise, he realised he meant it.

"Will you be staying here long?"

"No. There's a rumour we might be going to Spain, trying to drive the French out of there before they think of coming back here."

Delfina paused and looked at him, suddenly realising why he'd come there that day. "This is goodbye, isn't it?"

Sharpe nodded. "Afraid so, lass."

Delfina kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, Richard. For everything."

Sharpe turned and walked out of the tavern, affecting only a small backward glance. He would miss Delfina but he had always known she would be his for just a short time. There was something else he had his eyes on now. Something a lot more permanent.

* * *

Dunnett looked up from his papers at the junior officer who had requested a meeting with him. "And what can I do for you, Mister Sharpe?"he asked, managing to make the simple question sound like an insult.

"Lieutenant Machin's commission,"Sharpe replied. "I want it." Machin had been found when the battlefield had been searched. And even though he had been far from his own battalion, as far as anyone was concerned he had died a hero's death.

"You want to be made full lieutenant?"Dunnett asked, unable to keep the sneering tone out of his voice.

"I've been an officer for five years,"Sharpe pointed out. "That gives me enough seniority."

"Quite so,"Dunnett agreed. "But to purchase a lieutenancy requires a sum of five hundred and fifty pounds. Do you possess such a sum?" It was clear that Dunnett believed Sharpe did not.

Sharpe tossed Machin's purse onto the desk.

Dunnett opened it and counted out the coins, disappointed to see it was all there. "Where did you get this?"he asked.

"Earned it,"Sharpe replied abruptly.

Dunnett decided the point wasn't worth pursuing. "Very well, I hereby authorise a promotion to full lieutenant for Mister Richard Sharpe. Won't mean an increase in pay, though. You'll still be quartermaster and your salary will reflect that."

"Step closer to getting my own company though,"Sharpe retorted.

For a moment, Dunnett was lost for words. Then his sneer returned. "We shall see, Lieutenant Sharpe."

* * *

"I keep telling them what you did on the ridge,"Cooper protested. "How you saved the army. But no-one believes me. Harper says you spent the whole of the battle at the baggage train."

Sharpe gave an ironic smile. He'd expected no less. "We know what happened, let them think what they like."

"But they think we didn't do any fighting,"Cooper protested.

"You think Rolica and Vimiero are all there is to beating the French? There'll be plenty more battles to fight. We'll show them what we can do then."

Cooper grinned. "Right, sir. Lieutenant, sir."

Sharpe had intended the words simply to shut the soldier up. But as he stood there, he realised the truth of them. Now they were at war the rules had changed. Anyone could advance in this army, even someone who had crawled out of the gutter like him. He would show the likes of Dunnett and Harper that he was not only a good soldier, but a good officer. Somewhere along the way, they would learn Sharpe's value.

* * *

**I'll be adding a Historical Note to this shortly but this concludes the story. Any opinions on it welcome!**


	12. Historical Note

HISTORICAL NOTE

The battles of Rolica and Vimiero, and the skirmish at Obidos that preceded them, marked the beginning of the British involvement in the Peninsular War and covered the whole of the first tenure of Sir Arthur Wellesley, the future Duke of Wellington, as commander of the British forces. I have done my best throughout this story to give an accurate account of the battles but my apologies for any details that are unreliable. I owe an enormous debt to Mark Adkin, writer of the book _The Sharpe Companion_, who gives much speculation about Sharpe's actions in these months as well as providing the context of the real world events. If he ever reads this, I hope he understands that I had to change a few elements to make my story work.

The 29th did indeed launch a precipitous attack at Rolica during which they sustained around half the British and Portugese casualties of the battle. Although accounts differ, they appear to have had around two hundred men killed, including their commanding officer Colonel Lake. Four days later, at Vimiero, they met the French attack on the ridge, where the French came closest to breaking through the British line. I attempted without success to learn who commanded them at Vimiero, hence my substitution of Colonel Forbes. In both battles, the British/Portugese army had the numerical advantage so the fact they attained victory is perhaps not surprising.

The 95th were the first regiment to engage the French at Obidos and suffered the first casualties, including Lieutenant Bunbury. Machin, however, is fictional. As is Lenoir, although General Brennier existed and was captured at Vimiero, not being returned to the French until the following year. The 95th did fight alongside the 60th at Vimiero, which allowed me to place Murray and Frederickson in charge of their skirmishers.

After Vimiero, the French offered their unconditional surrender. Despite this, they were given escort out of Portugal with full equipment. It was a move that freed Portugal from the French but which outraged people back in London. Sir Huw Dalrymple and Sir Harry Burrard were recalled from the Peninsular and never returned. Sir Arthur Wellesley was also recalled but, having argued against the treaty and refused to sign it, he was completely exonerated by the enquiry. He would return to command the army the following year, winning victories at Oporto and Talavera. And so, as Bernard Cornwell, would say, Sharpe would march again.


End file.
